


Retrofitting

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Series: Imagine Tony & Bucky [75]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Drunkenness, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Misunderstandings, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reconciliation, Rejection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 03:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7997071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one expected them to get along. They didn’t come right out and say it, didn’t have to. Leaving it unspoken was telling in and of itself. Even with a head full of shredded memories, the parts of him that are Bucky Barnes can read the tension in Steve’s jaw, picks up on the way he positions himself between Stark and what is left of his best friend.</p><p>Steve Rogers expects to be disappointed.</p><p>They don’t know each other, haven’t even been introduced, and yet Bucky knows that Stark feels it too, an unspoken accusation that hangs out there, condemning them both.</p><p>When their eyes meet, he can read the broadcasted intention, finds his chin dipping, hardly a movement at all, but it’s enough for Stark. One of his eyebrows ticks up, surprised, perhaps, but he accepts Bucky’s consent for what it is, and proceeds accordingly.</p><p>“About time you joined the party, Barnes,” he declares, all warmth, and welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retrofitting

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Imagine Tony and Bucky have both been hanging around the Tower in jeans/sweatpants/T-shirts/messy hair and that's just fine, but some kind of event forces them both to get dressed to the nines - Tony in a tux, Bucky in some kind of military dress uniform, and when they encounter each other they both go "Oh no, he's hot."
> 
> Imagine a ‘I didn’t feel the same way about you and had to gently let you down when you confessed your feelings to me but now that I've screwed up our friendship and made things awkward I can’t stop thinking about you and I think I’m falling in love with you too’ au with Tony being the one to gently reject Bucky at first bc between Ultron and saving the world romance was the furthest thing from his mind. Cue a bit of angst before a preferably happy ending!
> 
> \--
> 
> AN: Seeing AoU not required for reading. Also, there be feels ahead. Please keep in mind: Bucky is a (sort of self-confessed) unreliable narrator; all will be resolved with a happy ending; drinking after emotional epiphanies can occasionally lead to huge misunderstandings.

No one expected them to get along. They didn’t come right out and say it, didn’t have to. Leaving it unspoken was telling in and of itself. Even with a head full of shredded memories, the parts of him that are Bucky Barnes can read the tension in Steve’s jaw, picks up on the way he positions himself between Stark and what is left of his best friend.

Steve Rogers expects to be disappointed.

They don’t know each other, haven’t even been introduced, and yet Bucky knows that Stark feels it too, an unspoken accusation that hangs out there, condemning them both.

When their eyes meet, he can read the broadcasted intention, finds his chin dipping, hardly a movement at all, but it’s enough for Stark. One of his eyebrows ticks up, surprised, perhaps, but he accepts Bucky’s consent for what it is, and proceeds accordingly.

“About time you joined the party, Barnes,” he declares, all warmth, and welcome.

Bucky actually has to shoulder past Steve in order to shake the offered hand. It’s the left one, of course, and Tony’s smile is bright, almost viciously so, prompting Bucky to return it. Appearances, and all. The muscles of his face feel stiff from disuse, and he guesses it looks uncomfortably unlike anything deserving the classification of _smile_ , but it’s all he’s got, so it’ll have to do.

“Nice to finally meet the guy that’s been pickin’ up my slack for me,” Bucky opts for.

They’re still shaking, and Bucky decides to go all in, complete the circuit, so that Tony’s hand is held suspended between the Soldier’s metal hand and the one Bucky was born with. Stark takes a step closer, chin tipping up so he can maintain eye contact, and not one to back down, he uses his free hand to clasp Bucky’s shoulder as they end the shake.

“Someone has to keep him out of trouble,” Stark says, and he is much better at making empty smiles appear genuine. “They haven’t given you the tour yet, have they? Nevermind, doesn’t matter, my workshop’s the best part anyway, so we’ll skip the rest and head straight there.”

Tony lets his hand slide down from Bucky’s shoulder to his elbow, cupping it and guiding him along. “Got a flyin’ car?” he asks, and Tony laughs—it’s possibly even genuine, he’s very good at playing this game, so Bucky can’t quite tell—his head tipped back, and his eyes crinkling at the edges.

“What is the appeal of a flying car, anyway?” Tony asks, leading them away.

He babbles on about the impracticalities, and how a flying suit of armor is way more badass, and when Bucky glances over his shoulder, he finds Steve standing in the same spot he’d previously occupied, more or less gobsmacked.

The only person in the room who appears to be smugly satisfied by this turn of events is Natasha, the sparkle in her eyes almost interpretable as, “well played.”

“I got two words for you,” Hawkeye says once he thinks they’re out of earshot. “Anticlimactic.”

Sam exhales loudly. “What is even wrong with you, Barton?”

And then they are alone.

Tony’s smile slips aside, but he doesn’t move out of Bucky’s personal space. They stand shoulder to shoulder, the silence comfortable when it has no right to be.

“That was fun,” Bucky remarks, more to himself than to Stark, but he peripherally sees the smile creep onto Tony’s face, and this time his own feels more natural.

+

Of course, maintaining appearances is important. They continue on as if they are friends, so it isn’t very surprising when they find themselves no longer required to pretend.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Bucky insists, elbowing Tony. “Whipped cream would make it better.”

“Try it first,” Tony countered, holding the can of whipped cream behind his back, as if Bucky couldn’t easily snap him in half to retrieve it, “then iterate.”

They’re still bickering over how best to eat dessert when Steve appears. Bucky wonders what he thinks, as Tony’s hair is matted all along one side of his head with engine grease (or something black and sticky) and Bucky hasn’t bothered showering a couple days, and is looking rough, himself. By comparison, Steve is clean shaven, all crisp lines, and shining bright with justice.

“I _don’t_ … How the hell does someone shine with justice?” Steve demands.

“Don’t ask me, you’re the one doing it,” Tony countered, and when he raises his hand, Bucky fist bumps him without thinking, before spraying half the can of whipped cream into his mouth.

“You are pretty shiny,” he adds, although the words are almost unintelligible.

Steve’s brows draw together, his mouth pursing, but he just shakes his head, and holds up his hands in surrender. Bucky, for no reason he can discern, suddenly feels the need to wrap a protective arm around Tony’s shoulders, so he does.

“Speaking of which, time for a _Firefly_ marathon.” Tony grabs up his coffee, elbowing Bucky in the ribs when he goes for round two of whipped cream. “Cap, you in?”

There is a fragility to Tony in the moments when he reaches for Steve. Bucky now knows some of their history together, having heard it from both men, and understands that something deep inside of Tony has perhaps been broken one too many times.

It isn’t Steve, specifically, it is everything and everyone.

Howard Stark, Pepper Potts, a man named Stane, Ultron, and the Maximoffs, Bruce, Vision, and JARVIS, and Bucky Barnes. It’s Tony, and Iron Man, and a short-lived retirement, and this ever present tension they all try to pretend isn’t filling the empty spaces between them.

Steve’s smile is almost shy. “Throw in a slice of pie, and you’ve got a deal.”

Bucky positions himself between them on the couch, and isn’t sure why, but he feels as if doing so soothes both men.

+

Before the war, time seemed pretty straight forward. Literally. It was something that moved forward, carrying you along whether you wanted to go or not. Now, it isn’t so simple. Time is something that ebbs and flows, rushes past him, or drags him back and back and down deep, so that he sometimes has trouble remembering where it is he belongs.

Tony gets dragged along with him, occasionally.

“You’re _sure_?”

“James, darling, I promise you, that was not me,” Tony insists. “Though I’m flattered your brain is intent upon retrofitting me into your memories.”

“Well, it shoulda been you,” Bucky groused. “Explosion like that? Still don’t know how I got off without a scratch.”

Tony kicked him lightly in the back of the head. “I’d call bullshit, but you’re much too much, Mr. Barnes.” His smile is a little sleepy, and a lot indulgent. “Pretty sure you’re capable of anything.”

Bucky watches Tony stretch like a cat, the oversized sweatshirt he’d tugged on sliding up to reveal skin, and muscle, and scars. Bucky watches this absently, brow furrowed, trying to puzzle through the memory.

“Maybe it was Jacques?”

They’re tangled together on the couch as if someone had dropped them there from a great height, and it occurs to Bucky that it should bother him more than it does. It should probably bother Tony, too, but he seems untroubled by the proximity. One of his legs is propped up along the back of the couch—thus making it easy for him to kick the back of Bucky’s head—the other stretched out across Bucky’s lap.

“We could go ask Steve.”

Bucky shrugs. “I kinda like the version in my head. I’m gonna stick with it.”

“Well, then, in that case, sorry I almost blew you to pieces.”

+

Of course, it isn’t until it is too late that Bucky realizes his mistake. The air won’t move in his lungs, sticks there, bringing panic in a wave, right up until Tony’s eye widen, steps faltering, and he realizes he is not alone in this. Apparently, the bottom has dropped out for each of them.

“You look… _Wow_. Uh, sorry,” Tony laughs, but that’s fear in his eyes. “The haircut threw me for a second there. You clean up nice, soldier.”

Bucky looks down at himself, desperately trying to remember how they normally interact. His military dress uniform looks more like a costume than something he deserves to wear, but he keeps this to himself.

“So do you, greasemonkey.”

Tony wears his tuxedo like a second skin, and it makes Bucky feel incredibly foolish. He thinks of time, and wonders how much has actually passed since they’ve met each other. Days and weeks and months piling up, hours spent in each other’s company, and somehow this is the first time Bucky feels he is really _seeing_ Tony.

Because Tony is _stunning_. He is immaculate, and far too at ease in his own body, aware of his beauty, unafraid of it. The curve of his lips, the quirk of his brow, even the delicate shell of his ear. Bucky exhales, and loses himself to admiration, a steady pound of arousal taking hold of him, leaving him powerless to his observations.

Something Tony sees when looking at Bucky has made him afraid, and it hangs between them, driving him up a wall, because he is either very foolish, or being willfully ignorant.

It isn’t until later, when he’s had far too much to drink, and his inhibitions have gone and given up on him, that Bucky finally understands the depth and breadth of the issue.

Tony’s breath comes quick, warm and smelling of champagne, but he says, “I can’t,” and, “I’m sorry,” sounding so broken. His body trembles against Bucky’s, and selfishly, he drinks in the sensation, all the places Tony presses against him. But only for a moment.

He shifts aside, making room. Bucky expects Tony to rush off, but arms wrap around him instead. Tony squeezes, and Bucky tries very hard not to cry. Now he is the one trembling, and Tony is strong, and steady, trying to keep him grounded in reality.

It was too much to hope.

“S’okay,” Bucky insists, but it feels like someone has hollowed him out.

Tony’s mouth is right there, and now all he can do is _mourn_ , broken by the understanding that he’ll never know what it feels like to kiss those lips. It’s insane, because two days before Tony had fallen asleep practically in his arms, and it had felt natural, and easy. And now it is not, because all of those unnamed feelings he’d been cultivating so carefully had been given a definition, and romantic love is apparently not something Tony is comfortable sharing with him.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and Bucky wonders how it is his heart beats so fitfully in his chest now that it has been broken. But he holds Tony close, and breathes him in, and says, “Come on, we’re still friends, it’s okay. We’ll be fine.”

+

They aren’t fine. Not at all.

+

“Ever gonna tell me what happened?”

Bucky twitches, relaxing again, because it is only Steve. “No. Don’t think I will.”

Steve wasn’t expecting this answer. “You two seemed…”

Whatever is in Bucky’s eyes is enough, though, and Steve lets that particular sentence fizzle out and die. “Well. Let me know if I can do anything, or you want to talk about it. Tony and I have certainly had our own ups and downs.”

He grinds his teeth together, and tries to figure out how much time has passed since the gala. Tony had left on business the following day, but has since returned. They’ve seen each other, of course, have eaten meals at the same table, have backed each other up in more than one firefight, but the places they once occupied together have remained empty and untouched.

Bucky misses him terribly. Somedays, he cannot breathe for missing Tony. Some nights, he cries fitfully in a corner of his room, unsure why this hurts so much more than anything else that has happened in his life. There is so very much to choose from, when it comes to reasons for shedding tears. Worst of all, his brain—desperate to fill in all those blanks left behind by Hydra—continues to edit Tony into his memories, tormenting him.

Italy, and no one has shot at them in ages, so it seems safe enough to take advantage of the darkness, and proximity. A mouth against his own, almost too rough, and the man who is not Tony pulls him close, shifts until they can rut against each other like the wild creatures that they have been reduced to. He swallows a moan that is not his own, then comes in his pants, sticky and awful and wonderful, and this time Tony’s mouth is sweet, and gentle, and whispers endearments, and after catching their breath, they get each other off again. Slow, and far too tenderly, and he wishes there was more privacy, so he could strip him down and map every inch of Tony’s bared skin. But there isn’t privacy, and there sure as shit ain’t time for that sort of romancing. He takes what he can because there might not be another chance. Either of them could die at any moment.

It couldn’t have been Tony, though, because Tony hadn’t even been born yet. Except, he likes his version better, so he’s gonna stick with it.

“Wanna watch a movie?” he asks, and Steve is kind, and does not question Bucky’s need to sit close.

+

“Please, don’t,” Tony begs, and Bucky has never seen that particular look in Tony’s eyes. “Fuck, Barnes, you said we’d be fine!”

His mouth opens and closes, and he realizes suddenly that Tony looks awful. The side of his face is still colorfully bruised, which goes well with the dark circles under his eyes, and the stubble. This last battle had worn on all of them, but Tony wasn’t shaking it off the way he normally did.

Bucky doesn’t know how to respond. “We… I thought you might want,” he swallows, and looks around, as if the word might be there in the room with them, waiting for him to pick it up and put it to use, “space?”

“Space is the _last_ thing I want,” Tony hisses, shuddering, a hand working over his mouth as if he is scared of what might spill out. “Ask anyone about me and space, we are _not_ on good terms, James.”

“What, then,” Bucky shouts, and he didn’t mean to shout, but everything has been pressurized inside of his chest, and all he really wants is to pull Tony close, keep him safe. “Tell me how to fix this!”

“That’s what I’m asking you,” Tony counters. “You’ve been running away from me for three months now, and I’ve tried to talk to you, to spend time with you, or just… but… Is that it, then? I won’t fuck you, so you can’t be my friend anymore?”

It feels like he’s been slapped.

“You’re an asshole, Stark,” Bucky gets right up into Tony’s personal space, using every inch he has on him, every pound of muscle, making it clear what the outcome would be, if he chose to become violent. “This wasn’t about sex, and you know it!”

“How?” Tony demands, and he hasn’t moved. He looks a bit like he’s scared what might happen if he tried. “How the hell was it about anything other than a cheap fuck?”

The question stretches out, unanswered. Bucky must appear genuinely confused, because when Tony speaks again, it is his calm explaining voice, the one he uses when people stare at him, left behind as he leaps ahead, forming connections where there were none before.

“Can you remember? You were drunk off your ass. Cornered me outside the men’s room, and tried to kiss me.”

The memories were fuzzy and indistinct, muddied by booze, and longing, and grief. The word love had been pounding in his chest in time with his beating heart. But when he thinks back, carefully, intently, not playing with the memories as has become his custom, it’s different than he’d expected.

“Huh, guess you _can_ get drunk,” Tony had said, amused at first to find Bucky pulling him into his arms, spinning him in what could have been a dance move. Bucky couldn’t stop staring at Tony’s mouth, so decided to give him a kiss. Tony turned his head, so that Bucky’s lips dragged against his jaw instead. “Whoa there, soldier. At ease.”

“Don’t overthink it,” he’d insisted, using his strength to press Tony into the wall. “Sometimes you just gotta go with the flow, have a lil’ fun, blow off some steam.”

“Not with you,” Tony had answered. “You’re too important, James. It’d fuck up our friendship. Let’s get you some water, and we’ll laugh about this later, okay?”

“Don’t wanna laugh about it,” Bucky had insisted, pressing his forehead against Tony’s, and swallowing around the lump in his throat. “You’re beautiful, Tony. How’d I miss that before? I know you want me, too. Saw you lookin’. I’d make it real good for you.”

And then Tony had said, “I can’t,” and, “I’m sorry,” before holding him tight, wanting to hold onto their friendship, and Bucky had gotten it all wrong, hadn’t he?

The Tony of the present was watching him, his expression shuttered, or shattered, but certainly not relaxed, and open the way it was meant to be around Bucky.

“I meant it, James. You’re… important. To me. And I miss you, I miss _us_ , and what… whatever it was we were building together.”

He can see it now, that everything he has been feeling has been mirrored in Tony, has been carried around in his heart this entire time.

“Holy shit.” And then, “Tony, I’m in _love_ with you.”

Tony’s eyes are wide, and so very beautiful, filled with hope and fear and disbelief.

“That was the night I figured it out,” Bucky swore, his voice low, and wrecked, “I didn’t know before, what the feeling was, and… It came out all wrong. I got it all wrong, Tony, I messed it all up, because I thought you knew, I thought I’d said, I wanted to say—”

“Calm down, hey,” Tony is there, is holding his shoulders, and guiding him over to the couch. “Slow breaths, nice and deep.”

“How much I love you,” Bucky gasped, “so much, Tony, and I got it all wrong, and hurt you. Didn’t I? This whole time, I’ve been tearing myself to pieces, trying to figure out how I’m supposed to put myself back together again, thinking you didn’t care. I thought I said it, I thought I told you, Tony, I’m so—”

There are hands tracing the contours of his face, and mercifully, Tony silences him with a fervent press of lips, his eyes open, meeting Bucky’s own.

“I love you, too,” he gasps, pulling away for a moment, to make certain Bucky is still with him, has understood his intentions. “I’ve missed you so much, James, I thought—”

This time, he is the one to pull Tony close, and then they are kissing, again and again, grasping at each other, holding on tightly, as if someone might try to come between them.

No one does.

And so he pulls Tony close, and kisses his face, and his neck, holds him so very tight, and pours out his heart. Warm hands stroke along his back, and fingers drag through his hair, and sometimes they kiss, but whenever Tony isn’t busy listening and comforting, he is laying himself bare for Bucky, making himself vulnerable, confessing and trusting, and it is the most beautiful thing any person has ever done for him.

Bucky loves him, and is loved in return.

Later, much later, when they are calm, and curled together in Tony’s bed, Bucky smiles to himself, and wonders. Maybe now his mind will stop playing tricks on him. Now he and Tony will be able to make so many memories together that there will be no need to forge them for himself. He checks, probing, trying to find pockets of emptiness, but there are none, because his heart is full, so very full with love that he has too much for one body; he’ll have to keep some inside of Tony.

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, I've fallen off the face of the Earth! This is quite overdue in being posted. Mea culpa!! ~___~;;


End file.
